Tag Archives: Guerilla gardening

Tiny garden twilight

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It was Halloween day and the tiny garden was dressed for the occasion.

I had stopped into a dollar store nearby for some festive black spiders and orange paper pumpkins to adorn the two pots of now-droopy geraniums at Pape and Cosburn. From a fruit shop, I acquired some gnarly green-and-orange gourds, and a little pot of cyclamen flowers to give the garden its last blast of colour before the long Canadian winter set in. People hurried to and fro to pick up candy to shell out, or find last-minute costumes for Oct. 31st.

A radio journalist had dropped by to interview me about the tiny garden. Quinton is a family friend studying at Ryerson University. For a radio feature, she wanted to learn more about guerilla gardening and so had booked time to visit.  It was a nice way to bring closure to this year’s garden season, and to think about the meaning of guerilla gardening.

IMG_5303 pumpkin

An act of faith

Quinton started with the specific — “What’s going on today? Describe you garden? — and moved to the universal — “How do you define guerilla gardening? What are the benefits?” I recalled my nervous SWAT mission to install the garden that spring. Gardening in a public space had been an act of faith. It had some trials but the tribulations had been worth it. The garden had put a smile on the faces of many passersby at an urban intersection that felt down on its luck.

As a journalist myself, I found inspiration in the next generation — here was Quinton visiting the scene with her tape recorder, questions and insights, to uncover garden moments and meaning. Quinton also asked if she could speak with my guerilla gardening mentor — my mom Sheila, who had carefully tended a small garden in a park near Rosedale subway station this summer.

Fleeting blooms

A few weeks later, when I was chatting with mom, she mentioned Quinton had visited, and they had walked over together to her “steps” garden. As early November weather set in, some hardy pink Mums provided final blooms as the two talked about the little garden that caught the eye of so many downtown residents and passersby.

Later in November, I dropped by Pape and Cosburn Avenue to take away my two large pots and their fading flowers.  They were heavy, so I parked my minivan illegally and hustled to drag them over and put them inside.

“You had a good run”

Leo the crossing guard came by. “Putting the garden to bed, eh?” he said. “You had a good run.” I asked Leo about his winter schedule — he is there several times each day to ensure the safety of hundreds of residents who cross the busy intersection. “My only vacation is in the summer when school’s out,” he added.

With the garden season in twilight, I wished Leo well. I told him I hoped to bring back the tiny garden next spring.

 

IMG_4458 me and mom

Guerilla gardeners

 

 

Trouble in the tiny garden

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IMG_5190 October white zinnia

My mom and I had beat the heat, helping our tiny gardens survive a steamy summer. But if guerilla gardening is an act of faith, our faith was to be tested a few more times in 2018.

At the urban intersection of Pape and Cosburn Avenues, my little collection of geraniums got some kudos for brightening up a dismal corner. Still, they needed regular stewardship against occasional unkindness — with every visit, I continued to remove a motley collection of objects deposited in the flower pots:

— a McDonald’s coffee cup

— a TTC transfer

— cigarette butts

— a cigarette lighter (broken)

— and perhaps most intriguing: an empty can of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, alcohol content 8%.

Luckily a nearby city bin accepted waste and recyclables, so I regularly deposited these and other items that had been so casually tossed into the tiny garden.

One day, I noticed my Tiny Garden #3 sign had gone missing. The flowers were fine, but their signage and branding had walked away. Somewhere out there, I thought, someone has carefully conserved my rustic attempt at a garden sign. It had been fashioned on a small piece of plywood, with capital letters written in black marker, fixed to a 1×1″ stick. I am sure it is now someone’s private shrine. At least, that is my hope.

Dire news — garden thievery

Over at my mom’s little guerilla garden near Toronto’s Rosedale Subway station, the news was more dire.  My mom had headed out one day with her watering can and trowel, when a resident in her building gave her the warning: “Sheila, it looks like somebody has damaged your garden unfortunately.”

As my mom got closer to her beloved tiny garden, she spotted gaping holes left by a thief who had made off with geraniums and zinnias — roots, leaves, flowers and all.

As a long time community gardener, I am accustomed to having things walk away from my plot — the worst theft ever was of my entire red currant bush. On a recent visit to my plot at Thorncliffe community garden, my neighbor Boris showed me how thieves had jumped his fence to make off with bags full of cherry tomatoes.

To catch a thief

I sympathized with my mom.  At the same time I tried to give her some context: “Mom, remember that hundreds of people have enjoyed your garden. It’s just one person that has damaged it.” That may be true but the idea can feel a bit trite to a gardener who has carefully nourished plants over months, only to see them disappear in an instant. She considered the thievery to be a beastly act, and I agreed.

I was reminded of a newspaper clipping my uncle Ray had once sent me in the mail from the UK. He knew my interest in community gardening, and he had heard about my stolen red currant bush.  “ALLOTMENT GARDENER GIVES BOTH BARRELS TO VEGETABLE THIEF,” the headline screamed. The story went on to describe how the gardener had laid in wait overnight with his shotgun. He was now facing a manslaughter charge. I empathized with the man’s stolen veggies, but thought his method was a bit extreme.

Abandoning the tiny garden

What can you do? We tried replacing a few of mom’s plants with some new ones, only to see them disappear from her plot. She was heart-broken. Twice bitten, thrice shy. She decided to give up her tiny garden.  She started taking another route on her daily walks. Friends in her building commiserated with her plight.

I held out hope, though. On a recent visit with mom I asked her if she had been by to visit her tiny garden at all. She admitted she had recently taken some scissors to trim back the weeds next to the path, and a trowel to dig over the soil a bit.  Some geraniums had made a comeback in the fall, pushing out red blooms, she added. And the original mums we had planted behind a hollow log in the spring had started to bud up.

Holding out hope

“They are late bloomers mom, they will put on a pink show for you in about a month.”

Mom said she would keep an eye on things and hope for the best.

IMG_5189 October mums

Late bloomers and theft survivors: Mom’s mums in October 2018. At top, a remaining pretty white Zinnia in mom’s tiny garden, October 2018.

 

 

The tiny garden — finding allies

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As summer heated up, my Mom and I tended our tiny guerrilla gardens — and found allies along the way.

One day my mom descended the steps towards her little garden in a Rosedale Park.  As she approached, she noticed that a good Samaritan had put down some topsoil and added a few plants.

She was a bit shocked at first but we tried to reframe the experience.

“I think someone has been inspired by your little garden, Mom,” I told her.

Over the next few weeks, she diligently watered the expanded garden. She noted that as her spring pansies started to fade, a new generation of geraniums and zinnias — planted by the good Samaritan — were coming into their own. “They’re budding out very nicely,” Mom told me.

IMG_4783 tiny garden July Sheila

Toronto entered a heat wave with daily temperatures into the 30C range. Still, mom set off each morning from her apartment with a watering can, and often returned later that day, to keep her garden watered.

Fans and allies

Along the way she discovered she had some gardening fans — and allies. “Just a quick note,” she wrote, “to tell you that while I was watering our pansies, a lady stopped and mentioned to me that she has already met and chatted with you when you were digging in the garden! Her name is Mary and she has kindly offered to do some watering for us once in awhile.”

Mom also said she had been visited by the good Samaritan who had placed the soil and extra plants around the little log garden. She couldn’t recall the woman’s name but had thanked her. Meanwhile, she noted that many people “had stopped with complimentary comments about our mini garden. I like to think it is appreciated by most of those who use the steps, up or down.”

“So you’re the mystery guy”

Over at the gritty northwest corner of Pape and Cosburn, I was quietly watering my Tiny Garden #3 one morning when the crossing guard approached me: “So you’re the mystery guy with the flowers,” he said.

“Yeah I live down the road and I thought the corner needed sprucing up,” I replied.

“Well people appreciate it and were wondering who put them there,” he said, stepping out into the intersection with his stop sign.

“Thanks for keeping everyone safe,” I told him.

IMG_4780 tiny garden July ian

My tiny garden now had some other allies:

While I was out of town one week, my Thorncliffe garden friend Debi and her husband dropped by to water it.  The couple are guerilla gardeners in their own right. They have planted two beautiful trees at one entrance to a major grocery store on Broadview Avenue.  The trees — a silver maple and locust — are flourishing with some occasional TLC by Debi and her husband.  They seem to have been adopted by the grocery store grounds crew as well, who keep the grass well cut around them

Hope and inspiration

Another gardening friend, Mike M., who was awaiting some major surgery, wrote to me: “I’m sure the fun,  colour and HOPE of the transformation of that grey space will put people right at the core of natural beauty, and may inspire them to spread the beautiful concept.”

On that note, my friend Reshmi, a former colleague in health care communications, gave me a large flower pot to expand the tiny garden, and offered her help with the expansion. And Mike R., who rides his bike through the intersection daily, said he would keep an eye on it during his commute to work. Friends and fellow citizens were coming out of the woodwork to support Tiny Garden #3.

Did I mention the cashier at the Wine Rack across the street? She told me: “Oh I love those flowers, I wondered where they came from.”

So much goodwill for the little guerilla gardens — the gardeners are feeling blessed!

 

Adopting the little log garden

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Three days had passed since my clandestine mission to install a little guerilla garden near my mom Sheila’s apartment building downtown.

I’d been back once to water the five pansies I had planted in and around an old cedar log in a ravine park near Rosedale subway station.

But still no word from Mom, although I knew one of her walking routes took her right by the little garden. I decided to send her an email and get right to the point:

May 2, 9:22 a.m.: “Hi Mom, by chance have you come across a little garden like this on the steps up to Rosedale subway? It looks a bit like your log garden in Don Mills.”

IMG_4453 the log

The suspense was killing me. But she got back to me later that day.

May 2, 5:05 p.m.: “Hi Ian.  Yes… I have just walked past this colourful pansy display… halfway down the steps, and can show it to you tomorrow. A nice reminder of my earlier Don Mills log garden.”

I decided to spill the beans.

May 2, 6:50 p.m.: “Glad you like it. I put it there for you! When the pansies fade we can put in a few geraniums.”

We had planned a walk the next day but the weather didn’t cooperate, so we rebooked for Sunday evening.

In the meantime, Mom reported back:

May 4, 4:29 p.m.: “Just a quick note to say that I’ve just enjoyed another steps walk and I’m pleased to see that all your blooms, yellow and purple, are still brightly coloured and healthy.”

The good news? She was intrigued by the little garden. The bad news — her use of the second-person “your” signalled, perhaps, that she was not taking ownership of it quite yet. It was still my guerilla garden.

One day later…

May 5, 4:25 p.m.: “Hi Ian, just another quick note… to let you know that I have just watered our special flowers by the steps! And I’ll continue to do this daily, if there’s no rain.”

Mom was now using the first-person plural — “our” flowers! I sensed she was on her way to adopting the little log garden.

Gentle rain

That Sunday in May we took a walk in the rain to see the pansies. After a long Canadian winter, Mom said it felt like a spring evening in England — a gentle rain was greening up the grass and gardens. Robins sang and pecked for worms.

Mom was surprised by how large the pansy blooms were. Her parents grew pansies in England and these ones were multicoloured and much larger.  I replied that I thought the pansy growers had bred bigger flowers over many generations. This would also make them sell faster at five for ten bucks at Sobey’s, I thought.

I had brought a long a small hand trowel and a mixture of home-made compost, peat moss and garden soil. Mom pointed out a few weeds that had sprouted around the pansies and I plucked them out while edging the little garden bed with the trowel.

An older man down on his luck shuffled past down the steps, then made a 90-degree turn into the woods to find some solitude. Meanwhile, two young women walking a black Labrador dog came past us going in the other direction. The dog wanted to sniff the pansies but my Mom kept him at bay. The dog’s owner smiled at us as she reined in her dog, checked her cell phone, and passed by.

Garden friends

Mom told me that an older couple had stopped to chat while she was watering the flowers the previous day and had complimented her on the garden. “My son planted it,” she told them, going for the sympathy vote. They told her they enjoyed seeing it every day and it seemed to be flourishing.

I emptied the compost mix beside the garden bed and mom gave instructions about where to spread it. “The pansy inside the log needs some too.”

On the way back to her seniors apartment building that evening we passed bold blue Hyacinth blooms and yellow daffodils planted the previous fall by the Parks Department in a park next to Yonge Street. The city was greening up and people had emerged to stroll with a spring in their step. The next week, we would return on a sunnier day — two guerilla gardeners in the heart of the city:

IMG_4458 me and mom

As we said goodbye I presented mom with the garden trowel, wrapped in a plastic bag, and she accepted it.

From failing hands I had passed the trowel — be hers to hold it high this gardening season.

My mom had officially adopted the little log garden.

 

 

 

 

 

The little log garden that could

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Near Toronto’s Rosedale subway station, a non-descript walkway and set of  concrete steps lead to a secret ravine that is a green oasis for local residents. The ravine is a regular walking route for my mom Sheila, who lives nearby in seniors apartments on Yonge Street.

Lately, Mom lamented the loss of her gardens in Don Mills.  She had lovingly tended three guerilla gardens there in a public park near Norman Ingram school — two around trees dedicated to here parents, and one in an old hollow log closer to her condo.

So as my entry into guerilla gardening, I decided to give Mom her own little garden in the ravine.

IMG_4341 the log

I had obtained a piece of hollow cedar log from  my inlaws’ cottage — it would recreate Mom’s favourite “log” garden in Don Mills and act as a centrepoint for the new garden.  I hauled the piece of cedar, along with a spade, a hand trowel, a plastic milk jug full of water, and some spring pansies — five for ten bucks at Sobeys — over to the new site.

A gardening SWAT mission

I found a nice spot on the landing of the ravine steps, with good sun exposure. And like a good guerilla gardener on a horticultural SWAT mission, I started digging vigorously, hoping to get the job done before having to explain myself to anyone.

I dug down a circle wider than the log diameter, then placed the cedar log inside, nestled into the soil. Using the hand trowel, I added soil to the log’s hollow area, and planted a yellow pansy there. As I moved on to work the soil in front of the log, I had my first visitor.

“Oh that is nice,” exclaimed an older woman coming down the steps. “We need more flowers here.”

“It’s for my Mom,” I replied, going for the sympathy vote. I realized that I was working up quite a sweat down my back between my vigorous digging and undercurrent of guilt at my illegal gardening activity. “This is one of her favourite walks.”

“Well thanks for brightening up the space,” the woman said, continuing on her way.

I got down to the final step of planting — by alternating purple and white pansies in front of the log. With the hand trowel, I dug spaces for each pansy and worked the soil around and on top of them.

So pretty

I was hustling to complete my entry into guerilla gardening when a second visitor came by. “Oh that is pretty,” said an older woman in a trim purple sports jacket. When I say older, I mean a few years older than me. She had her white hair tied back neatly and was smiling as she caught some afternoon sunshine while descending the steps.

“Thanks, it’s for my Mom,” I replied, figuring this line had already won over my first visitor. “She lost her garden when she moved downtown.”

“I can sympathize with that,” my visitor replied.  “I live in an apartment too. There’s a man who maintains a garden in a vacant spot next to our building. I tried to help him out but he is a bit of a control freak.  So I just leave him some plants from time to time and he fits them in.”

“Maybe you could find another spot,” I suggested.

She told me she wanted to grow some herbs near her building, to have a fresh source close at hand for cooking. She had seen some herbs for sale outside a local variety store, and would have a closer look.

Tiny Garden #2

I wished her well and took the final step of branding this tiny log garden. I inserted a stick with a small sign indicating this was “Tiny Garden #2.”  As Tiny Garden #1 existed only in my imagination, I thought my sign would indicate that this idea was trending.

I pushed the sign into the soft earth to complete the picture. I hoped this tiny garden would survive — and that my Mom would notice it next time she walked by!

 

 

 

 

 

Guerilla gardener

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My “four-corners” jogging route in the Danforth neighborhood takes me past a forlorn block on the east side of Broadview Avenue.

It looks to be a former grocery store or other retail establishment than went belly up years ago. The sign in the window says a dollar store is coming, but I’m dubious.

At the north end of the storefront there’s a cute little brick patio full of weeds and trash. It will be the site of my first guerilla garden.

IMG_3867 guerilla 2

I got the inspiration from my Mom.  After she and Dad moved to a condo in Don Mills, Mom maintained her passion for gardening by carving out three small circular gardens in a nearby public park.  Two of them surrounded trees she had dedicated to her parents Arthur and Ruth, each with a small plaque. The third surrounded, and filled, an old hollow log stump.

Many walkers, joggers and cyclists would remark on the pretty pink geraniums she grew. I donated some perennial pink mums that also did well in her little plots.

The parks department people respected the territory she had carved out — they neatly cut the grass around the edges.  And when three police officers on bikes dropped by once to ask her what she was up to, she indicated that these gardens, in fact, belonged to her, as she had paid for the trees dedicated to her parents. Duly noted. The police wished her well and hopped back on their bikes. After all, she was the guerilla gardener of Norman Ingram Park.

Mom lives downtown now and has been known to practice her guerilla gardening tactics on any geranium in the Davenport and Yonge area. This includes a nice flower arrangement outside a condo building that gets attention on her daily walks from spring to fall.

Now it’s my turn.

I’m still a proud member of one of Toronto’s oldest community gardens in the Thorncliffe Park neighborhood.  And I’ve got high hopes for my veggie and flower garden there this summer, and for some special projects. But on that forlorn little patio on Broadview Avenue, my first guerilla garden will rise.  I’m calling it Tiny Garden #2 — to imply that it is, perhaps, the start of a movement.

IMG_3869 guerilla 1

I’ve set myself a few conditions for my first guerilla garden:

— it has to be pretty — there are many folks walking that stretch of sidewalk each day and I hope that Tiny Garden #2 will brighten their day

— it has to be low cost — I’ve already acquired a suitable planter pot left out by a neighbor: free to good home. My sources of soil and compost are close at hand and free.  I may visit Home Depot for some potted flower arrangements in spring.

— it has to be maintained. I will be a steward of my Tiny Garden #2, but also be open to the stewardship of others.

— I need to be prepared for both miracles and disasters at my guerilla garden, and be ready to tell its story. I need to be prepared to defend or relocate my garden if the promised Dollarama store does not take kindly to it.

The guerilla gardening torch is being passed, be mine to hold it high.

Wish me luck.